


Your Mother's Eyes and Lips

by nevtelenwriting



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Anal Sex, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean looks like Mary, Dean thinks he's consenting but he's still a teenager so, Extremely Dubious Consent, IDK bittersweet ending?, Incest, John Winchester's guilt complex, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Dean Winchester, Parent/Child Incest, Self-Sacrificing Dean Winchester, Self-Worth Issues, john's questionable parenting, there's a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24523294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevtelenwriting/pseuds/nevtelenwriting
Summary: Dean messes up on a hunt, and he'll do anything for John not to be mad at him anymore. What will this mean for how Dean feels about his father, and what John feels towards him? Underage Dean is 15-16. Dean's POV (Transferred over from FF.net)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/John Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have decided I no longer have shame and am moving this fic over to AO3 and plastering my trashfire name on it. I wrote this in 2011 let me live ok.
> 
> I'm posting it in its original glory, I'm not editing it, I'm leaving it as is. Enjoy!(?)

Dean would give everything for his family. Ever since John told him that his job, his life was to protect Sam's and support the family, Dean understood what he was for. Dean was not meant to be anything more than an aid, something to help push his family along and live their lives. And Dean accepted that, Dean knew it was what he was good at. He cared for Sammy and helped his father hunt, he would throw himself in harm's way to protect either of them and do so much more.

And then John got angry one night. The hunt had gone very bad; the creature got away from them and they had to chase it. When they caught up it had smashed the window of the Impala and grabbed Sam where he was waiting inside. Before John could shoot it scratched Sam up badly. He didn't need to go to the hospital but his arms were bandaged up thickly and his left eye was black and blue. John didn't say a word the entire drive back to the motel room and Dean felt the deep sinking feeling coiling in his stomach. John told Sam to go to bed, that everything would be alright, and he needed to speak with Dean outside.

Dean forced himself not to shake as he muttered, "Yes, sir," and followed him out.

Dean barely closed the door when the yelling started. Dean didn't even try to defend himself, just held his head down and took it.

Dean could handle physical blows. He could fight back then and usually it resulted in snuffing out a supernatural bastard. John had only raised his hand to Dean twice in his life, and both times Dean had mouthed him off and he quickly learned not to ever disobey his father, his father was _always_ right.

But the yelling he couldn't stand. He knew he screwed up, he _knew_ it. Feeling those words slice into his skin - _protect Sammy!, you **failed** , what good are you?, both could be **dead** , your fault!, why do I bother? You want to be a man or not?-_ was making Dean tremble and it took everything in him not to cry. God dammit, he was almost sixteen years old and still felt like a child.

John barked at him to look him in the eye and Dean didn't know if letting his dad see his blood shot eyes was worse than disobeying his order. Dean pretended like he didn't hear, and John was yelling more. But his words this time freaked Dean out.

"So you think this was okay, then? That you can just bounce back all the time? You think you’re a man, Dean, think you have what it takes? Well maybe you don't need me, don’t need my money and my care, you can take off with your little brother all by yourself! I'll leave in the morning Dean, and _you_ get to be the big man."

Dean felt anxiety and panic flood his senses and Dean really did start to cry then, because of everything Dean feared, his Dad leaving him behind freaked him out so badly he couldn't even breathe. He felt John grab him by his chin to force his head up and he screamed, "Do you hear me, boy?"

Dean just looked him in the eye and sniffled, tears making his eyes and cheeks hot. He couldn't gather the breath to respond so he shook his head vigorously, crying harder until his breaths were reduced to gasps and loud, breathless sobs.

John sighed sharply and pushed Dean away, making him stumble a little bit into the car. He turned his back on Dean and in a moment of irrational fear he thought John really was going to leave him.

Dean managed to gather enough air to sob out in a few desperate breaths, "P-please, please Dad don…don't leave! I’m-, Dad I'm…s-sorry! I'm sorry!"

 _Nonono please, **please**_ don't let John leave them he couldn't survive, he couldn't live. Dean didn't know anything but obeying his father. He couldn't survive without his orders.

John turned back to Dean and for that moment he looked surprised, but scoffed and shook his head. He said nothing but didn’t turn away again, just quietly fumed and let Dean get control of himself.

Really, Dean knew that half of his angry words were born of panic from seeing Sam hurt. That the creature could have taken someone else away from them. They still didn't hurt less, and the other half of that anger was still directed at Dean. And that threat of leaving was still looming over Dean's head and he needed to make it better, he would do anything, _anything_ to make it all better.

"Dad," Dean choked, "I'll make it up to you, I swear. I'll do anything, just give me a chance! Let me do something to fix this!" _Just let me try, **please** don't leave us!_

John was still mad, the adrenaline and anger still coursing through his veins and he grabbed Dean roughly by the front of his shirt and hauled him close and up so Dean was almost eye level and his feet were barely touching the ground.

John seethed as he spoke and Dean could practically hear his words echoing in his mind, "What can you possibly give me, boy? You are a child. You aren't even old enough to drink or fuck yet."

Dean flinched away a bit; his hands grasped tightly over John's large forearms to keep him balanced. Dean thought about that statement for a long time. No, he wasn't old enough to drink, but Dean couldn't help but think that being able to kill outweighed the legal aspects of alcohol. And, well, Dean may or may not have tried some things with girls already and he knew a couple of people in his class had already gone the whole way. He knew he was old enough to handle that.

Before Dean could really understand what he was saying, he stuttered unsteadily back, "I-I'm old enough, sir. I c-can do those things."

And Dean had no idea what he was offering to his dad's face, not exactly. Dean had an inkling, but it was half-formed and he knew that _no way_ was John thinking that, this was his father. Yet look in John's eyes had wavered past angry and something unrecognizable kept flashing between worry and frustration.

John stared Dean down, disbelief now evident in his eyes and creased brow, and he lowered him to the ground. Dean held his gaze, straightening his back and trying to look sure of himself despite his red-blotched face and burning eyes. At least he had stopped crying.

After a long moment of silence John said, "Do you even know what you're offering, boy?"

And that feeling in his gut was starting to raise now, that maybe he was right about what that look had been.

"Y-yes sir," Dean replied, mad his voice had cracked.

John's eyebrows arched a little and with a hard push on Dean's shoulders forced Dean down to his knees, his face now level with his father's crotch.

"Are you _sure_?" His dad asked in a clipped tone, obviously not believing his oldest son.

Dean's eyes widened then, because John could not have made it more obvious if he had told Dean outright. The reality of it made Dean scared for a moment, unsure if this was something he was willing to give. But Dean quickly reminded himself that he had screwed up, and now his dad was giving him a chance atone for his mistake and let them move on from this. Dean was willing to do anything for his Dad, anything so that John wouldn't yell at him, and John could be happy with him if only for a second. After all Dean adored his father in every way, he admired him, wanted to be everything to John. His son, his partner, his tool, his soldier. He wanted to give his dad everything he could.

But he never thought about this. Dean found it didn't disturb him as much as it probably should have.

Dean made his decision, and managed to whisper another, "Yes, sir."

John was quiet, and then let out a sharp exhale, his eyes lidding slightly as he said, "Then get to it."

Panic clawed at Dean's head again, this was going really fast and he stuttered, "I-I've never-"

"You'll learn," his dad replied, firmly but softly.

Dean had opened his mouth to speak again, but stopped himself. If he continued to fear this he would make John think he was changing his mind and he really didn't want his dad mad at him again. He could do this.

With shaking hands Dean started to unbuckle his dad's belt, sliding the thick leather loose enough from him to reach the opening of his jeans. He unbuttoned the fly and slid the zipper down, each clank of the metal loud in Dean's ears. He tugged the denim down to John's knees and then, with a moment of hesitation, his boxers followed.

John had already started to grow thick and Dean swallowed hard again. The farthest he'd gotten sexually was feeling up Melinda Walker from his science class. They had skipped lunch to hide in a closet, and it had been short because they needed to run to class before anyone noticed them gone. This was a hell of a lot different. But Dean wanted to, _needed_ to please his father. Dean could just die if he didn't please John.

Dean leaned forward and nuzzled his father's length briefly, feeling the skin and inhaling his father's scent. He was familiar with the musk, but it was headier here, stronger and Dean groaned a little. He felt John jerk slightly above him and his gaze quickly darted up, worried he had done something wrong already. But John's gaze hadn't changed, lidded eyes watching Dean intently. Dean lowered his gaze again, bringing his hands up to steady himself on John's thighs. He gently pressed his mouth over soft skin, feeling the pulse against his lips and the length hardening more. Dean more or less started guess work, kissing it and licking it, finding that when he used his tongue John's breath would hitch. When his dad was fully hard and leaking pre-come, which Dean had lapped from the tip and made John groan lowly, he felt a hand tangle through his hair and tug him back, making Dean wince and pull away to look up.

"Stop messing around," John ordered, a slight breathlessness in his tone. Dean nodded; he knew he had been stalling, but it was now or never.

He slowly, hesitantly, put his hand around the base of his father's cock and drew him into his mouth, sucking softly until he felt the head bump the back of his throat and he gagged, drawing back a little. He tongued at the base and moaned a little at the salty taste. Dean heard a small, shuddering gasp come from his dad and he looked up, searching for approval of what he was doing. John's brow was creased, his mouth slightly slack. His eyes still bored into Dean's, but the pupils were dilated now. Dean felt a sense of pride knowing that he was giving his father pleasure.

Dean started bobbing his head then, using his hand where he couldn't reach with his mouth and sucking his father as hard as he could. John moaned Dean's name and bucking his hips against Dean's mouth, making him gag a little before pulling back. John kept his hips very still then and Dean knew he was holding himself back. So Dean tried to take more in, fighting his gag reflex to swallow around the head and bob his head a little faster. John cried out softly, his fingers digging into Dean's shoulder and the hood of the Impala. He used his tongue to press into the vein and tease the head, something that made John's knees shake and Dean reveled in that knowledge. Spit leaked from the corners of his mouth and his jaw ached from keeping his mouth wide but he didn't care, he was making John happy and he wasn't going to stop. Dean registered his own arousal pressing painfully into his jeans, pulsing and aching in its confined state but his hands were too busy keeping him from collapsing and touching John to do anything about it.

John was cursing and moaning Dean's name, strings of barely-intelligible words falling from his mouth – _god Dean that's so good, your mouth is perfect, so hot, holy fuck don't stop-_ and if Dean could have smiled he would have. Both of John's hands moved to Dean's head and he shallowly fucked his mouth, letting Dean control how much he took in. Now that slide of flesh against his lips and throat was turning Dean on and he moaned desperately at the sensation, his own hips bucking up as his body begged for contact. He braced his arms on John’s thighs and grasped his hips lightly, keeping his head still and swallowing around the head each time it hit the back of his throat; it helped keep him from gagging and he learned quickly that John liked it a lot. He let his dad fuck his mouth, the rocking picking up until John was burying himself deep with each hard thrust. Dean felt his nose brush coarse hairs around John's crotch and found himself proud he was able to take in so much.

Dean heard a few strings of John's babbling again, like _lips and eyes like your mother, so gorgeous baby boy, just like her, oh **FUCK**_ but he was too far gone to register what it meant. John was holding Dean steady enough that he could move one hand down to his crotch and kneaded himself through the thick denim, his long moan muffled around his father's arousal pressed completely inside his mouth.

John growled out he was about to come and Dean sucked him harder, looking up at his dad for the first time in a while. John's pupils were blown completely, moaning in-between harsh pants. When they locked eyes Dean saw his dad's eyes glaze as his brow creased together, letting out a loud, stuttered moan and squeezing his eyes shut. Dean felt his father swell in his mouth and John jerked forward, burying himself deeper in Dean's mouth than he had before and pulsing thick, hot come down Dean's throat. The sensation of his father throbbing so hard made Dean whimper and it was enough to drive him over the edge, his own hips jerking as he came inside his jeans.

John slipped out of his mouth and turned to lean heavily against the Impala, both of them panting for breath. Dean wiped his mouth off and shakily stood, uncomfortable with the cooling mess in his pants but pushing that to the back of his mind. He held his eyes down respectfully and waited for his father to talk, affirmation that he had atoned for his screw-up, and that he was dismissed. Dean was never allowed to leave without first being given permission.

He kept his gaze away as John pulled his boxers and jeans up and tucked himself back inside, zipping his pants and buckling his belt in silence. The quiet between them was heavy and quickly growing awkward and Dean wondered if he had done something wrong.

"Dean," John finally said, and Dean immediately looked up. John stared into his eyes for a moment, darting momentarily over to Dean's lips and hair before going back to his eyes. Dean knew that his lips were swollen and that his hair was a mess. He felt his face growing hot under his father's scrutiny but held his gaze.

John grimaced slightly and something like pain flashed in his eyes before he looked away. Dean's brow creased and he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but John beat him to the punch.

"Go get some sleep, Dean. You can use my bed; you don't have to share with Sammy."

Dean felt something heavy knot in his stomach and the panic was coming back.

"D-Dad, what do you-"

"I need time alone," John responded, his tone sharp but his eyes didn't match the authority. He looked pained, guilty. _Why?_ Did Dean do something wrong again?

"Dad, I'm sorry, I don't know what I..."

John chuckled, but no mirth was in it, and said, "You did nothing wrong, son."

His dad still wouldn't look him in the eye. Dean couldn't shake that unease.

"I-is it something I did? Let me fix it Dad-"

"Dean," John snapped, "You are dismissed."

The challenge was there now and Dean snapped his mouth shut in obedience.

"Yes, sir," Dean muttered softly, shaking slightly as he turned his back and walked back into the motel room.

_Please let Dad be here in the morning, please..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/Kudos appreciated always


	2. Chapter 2

Dean very nearly had a heart attack when he woke up and found John nowhere in sight. _Oh god he really left_ Dean had screwed up and _he **left**_.

Dean saw Sam in the bathroom brushing his teeth, seeming unperturbed by their father’s absence. Dean practically lunged at him, grabbing Sam by his shoulders and asking if he’d seen their dad.

Sam blinked owlishly at him and said with a mouth full of toothpaste, “Chuwl, you fweak.”

He spat out foam into the sink and added more clearly, “He went to grab breakfast. Jeeze, what’s got you worked up?”

Dean let out a long breath of air he didn’t realize he was holding and started laughing, breathless and probably a little too excited to pass as normal. Dean didn’t care, John was _still here_. Everything was alright.

Sam was staring at Dean like he was possessed and he slowly inched around Dean and out of the bathroom to get to his duffel.

“Okaaay…” Sam said slowly, still eyeing Dean like he was about to start giggling and weave flowers in his hair.

Dean kept grinning like an idiot and plopped down on his bed.

Sam shook his head and muttered, “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean snorted.

“Jerk,” Sam snapped back, rolling his eyes.

The door to their motel room rattled and Dean sprang up to open it for their father, first checking to make sure it was him before opening the door. John got upset if he just _assumed_ it was him and opened the door too quickly.

John gave Dean a curt nod as he walked into the room, but gave Dean no other indication or acknowledgement. Dean felt a little uneasy about that, but he figured the bad air still lingered between them and it would take some time for it to be completely gone. And truly, despite the lack of acknowledgement Dean was relieved; if John was still angry he would have made it evident. Not obvious enough for Sam to see of course, but Dean had memorized the subtle shifts in his father’s expressions to know what to do for him and how, and when to avoid him. Right now John just looked tired, more than just physically.

The teenager desperately wished he could bring up last night to him though, _any_ part of it, to figure out why John had looked so upset even when Dean had given him what he wanted. But Dean’s respect for his father outweighed all his questions and he kept his mouth shut. If John wanted to talk about it he would, it was not Dean’s place to bring it up. So he would be patient.

John smiled slightly at Sam and ruffled his hair, making the eleven-year-old exclaim indignantly and dramatically try to straighten the long strands.

“You feeling okay, Sammy?” John asked, “Your arms hurt?”

Sam exhaled sharply, “Don’t call me that. And I’m _fine_ dad, they’re just sore.”

John gave him a disbelieving look and Sam sighed out a groan, “ _Really._ ”

John nodded, “Good. Stop scratching.”

Jean batted Sam’s hands away from the bandages and he scowled, dropping his hands to his sides. Dean couldn’t help the small smile on his lips. Things were normal again –as normal as they could get, but Dean was more than happy with that.

But John still wasn’t looking Dean in the eye, was making an effort not to have to. Not for the rest of that morning or the entire day. Or the next day. A few times Dean was able to catch when he was looking, seeing that weird shadow of pain from that night, before John looked away and busied himself with cleaning guns or his knives.

They packed up and moved to the next town with barely a word between them other than commands. They finished up the next job with ease; the last before winter break ended and they both went back to school, and suddenly John said they were heading out again.

It had been weeks now. Dean’s _birthday_ passed without so much as a cursory recognition and a pat on the back. School had started up and Dean was cut out of hunts while John was on the road, but all of that was typical. What wasn’t typical was that every time he called he talked to Sammy instead of him, and other than asking if he was taking take care of his baby brother and if he was keeping his grades up –sometimes both of these questions asked by Sam to relay the message-, John said nothing to him.

Dean was going nuts. _What_ had he done _**wrong**?_ It was so bad even _Sam_ asked what he did to twist their dad’s panties into a bunch. Dean was freaking out too much to laugh or yell at Sam for the comment.

John was still mad at him, he had to be. He couldn’t forgive Dean this time and _shit_ , he probably _did_ want to leave that night but stayed just for Sammy’s sake. He probably concluded Dean would end up killing Sam, considering what a screw-up he was in his Dad’s eyes.

Dean was a nervous wreck by the time John came back at the end of February from a hunt. They weren’t moving out yet; John got a tip for a possible hunt south of them and he was heading out the day after tomorrow. He gave Sam a hug and Dean a pat on the back, which Dean stiffly took and all three of them could feel the tension in the air. Dean remained silent and Sam muttered something about needing to do homework, leaving the other two alone. Before Dean could think of opening his mouth, John was turning away again and going out the door. That was it.

Dean scrambled out the door after him and shouted, “You’re leaving _again?_ ”

John stilled, surprised by his son’s exclamation. He looked at Dean over his shoulder and replied sarcastically, “I’m suddenly not allowed to go out on my own, Dean? I didn’t realize I needed permission.”

Dean sputtered for a moment, then inhaled deeply to control himself. He needed to say this. Even with John’s comment he _still_ wasn’t looking him in the eye.

“Dad, whatever I did, I’m _sorry_ ,” Dean said unsteadily. He almost wanted to ask what it was he had done wrong, but having to _ask_ was bad enough. Dean would just have to hope he guessed right. Once he got an idea, at least.

John sighed exasperatedly and was turning away again as he said, “You did nothing wrong, Dean, now go back insi-”

“I’m not stupid, Dad!” Dean yelled, and _immediately_ regretted that outburst. Good god, he _knew_ not to talk back, but Dean was so confused and frustrated, and now he was getting angry with John constantly disregarding him. He deserved at least that much, right? …Right?

John paused for a moment, but instead of yelling he unlocked the door to the driver’s side and Dean started fumbling for words before John left and Dean never figured out what was wrong.

“Come on, Dad, you gotta be blind not to see you’re avoiding me! Even Sammy sees it; I just want to fix what I did!” Dean exclaimed, quickly approaching his father before he could get in.

John still wouldn’t look at him and growled, “Drop it, Dean. You can’t fix it.”

Dean bit his lip before it could tremble and replied, “I-I can try, sir. Give me a chance.”

 _Anything to make you talk to me again_.

Before John could respond Dean let his dignity go out the window –Dean’s dignity didn’t mean anything compared to obedience to John; _that_ was what mattered not what he thought of himself- and dropped to his knees in front of his father just like he had all those weeks ago. Maybe this would work? It had worked that night, sort of. Maybe that was it; he had performed poorly and it hadn’t been good enough for forgiveness. If Dean tried harder this time maybe John could let it go.

“I-, I can do this again, Dad,” Dean whispered. Before Dean had a chance to do much more than nuzzle his face into John’s crotch he was shoving Dean away, the teenager falling on his ass and skidding on the unforgiving asphalt. Dean hissed in pain and stared at his Dad with bewildered eyes.

“You think _whoring_ yourself is a proper atonement? I didn’t raise a faggot, boy!” John shouted in Dean’s face, the words biting so hard Dean flinched back violently.

The heavy realization coiled in his stomach like a sickness. _That_ was why he was mad.

“I…I thought you _wanted_ it,” Dean said softly.

It had been a test, and Dean failed miserably. Maybe John hadn’t wanted it after all, just wanted to see if Dean would actually do it. Of course he would, John had to know that, it was an _order_. Dean remembered that look in his eyes though; John had liked it. Was it because Dean liked it too? Dean couldn’t help that, it had felt good giving his father pleasure. But it had been wrong.

“Stand!” John barked and Dean scrambled to get on his feet, wincing when his raw hands scraped the asphalt again in his haste. John grabbed Dean by the front of his shirt and shook him once.

“Don’t _ever_ do that again, boy,” John hissed, “Get inside, and help Sam with his homework.”

Dean didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t fix this. _He couldn’t fix this._ He had screwed up so badly John didn’t even want to _look_ at him anymore. Oh god, did John even see him as his son anymore?

Dean’s throat was too tight and he felt too sick to respond. He nodded once and turned away from his father.

“Do I repulse you that much?” Dean thought bitterly, biting his lower lip and walking back towards the motel.

“What did you just say?” John said lowly, and Dean stopped dead in his tracks. Dean’s eyes slowly widened and he paled. Oh shit. Had he said that out loud?

“Sir, I-” Dean started, his throat closing in embarrassment. God dammit, what a whiny bitch thing to say, John was going to lay into him now.

“Answer me, boy!” John snapped and Dean nearly jumped. He was close to running now. He was literally too mortified to answer, so all he could do was turned to face John again. He could see the anger burning in his dad’s eyes as he approached him quickly. Dean clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking too noticeably.

Dean braced himself for more yelling, or to be struck because he _knew_ that was out of line and his dad was obviously angry enough to do it.

John was fuming and he raised his hand, Dean holding his ground. He didn’t flinch, knew better than that, but was unable to look John in the eye. After two seconds too long Dean hesitantly looked up, surprised the hand was still raised. John was clenching his jaw hard, and slowly his hand relaxed into a loose fist and dropped to his side. He closed his eyes and let out a long, exasperated exhale and his expression softened slightly. Okay, Dean was really confused now.

John’s hand moved to Dean’s shoulder, the teenager following the movement and staring bewilderedly when he clasped the appendage, his hand heavy but strong and reassuring. _What the hell?_

Dean gathered the courage to look up fully and was surprised when he met John’s brown eyes staring back into his.

“You’ve done _nothing_ wrong, son,” John said slowly, his voice steady and firm even if his eyes were sad.

Dean struggled with himself, desperately wanting to believe him but not being able to ignore the _six weeks_ John refused to talk to him.

“Then why won’t you look at me?” Dean bit out, and damn, he knew he sounded pathetic. His voice was small and his eyes burned from tears he managed to swallow down, and he had to keep gritting his teeth and holding his breath to keep himself in control.

John gave Dean a weak smile and Dean could see just how dim and tired his father’s eyes looked.

“I’m looking now, aren’t I?” John replied.

“Daaad…” Dean groaned, closing his eyes and resting his head against the motel wall. Screw all of this. He was seriously hoping the ground would swallow him up and this would just _stop._

He heard John sigh and say, “Dean…” and his tone of voice made Dean open his eyes again.

John was staring into his eyes almost deploringly but whether it was directed at Dean or himself, he didn’t know. He assumed it was directed at him and he lowered his head a little, holding his father’s gaze unsteadily and biting at his bottom lip.

John’s eyes shifted from his eyes to his mouth again, and John sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. Dean immediately stopped that.

“You have to understand,” John started softly, “I’m not…I’m not perfect, Dean. There are things I can’t control; things I can’t handle. It’s not your fault that I’m…”

John swallowed hard and his hand dropped from Dean's shoulder. He suddenly felt very cold and Dean wrapped his arms around himself self-consciously. Dean tried to decipher John's words; why would John think that of himself, he was the greatest man Dean knew. What could John even _mean_ by that? He can't handle what? Dean racked his brain for answers, and then he remembered John's words from that night. They had been half-formed thoughts, but he remembered them and Dean wasn't stupid.

“Is it because I look like Mom?” Dean said softly, so quiet he almost thought John wouldn’t hear him.

Dean didn’t flinch from the sharp impact of John’s hand cracking against his cheek, forcing his head to the side. He felt strong hands fist the front of his shirt and he cringed when he was slammed up against the wall, his feet nearly leaving the ground.

“You shut your mouth, boy,” John snarled and shook Dean harshly, making him flinch. Fire was burning in John’s eyes again and Dean for the first time he felt a sense of fear that John was mad enough to beat him.

The fists tightened on his shirt and Dean braced himself, but it never came. John dropped him and Dean’s knees buckled under him. He barely managed to stay upright, and neither said a word when John got into the impala and left him behind.

Dean slid listlessly down the wall and drew his legs up to his chest, hiding his face in his knees and spending the next hour trying not to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/Kudos appreciated always


	3. Chapter 3

The next day Dean had picked a fight at school. For the life of him he couldn’t remember what it was about but what he did know was that the asshole got in a few good punches and ended up breaking Dean’s nose. It healed a little crookedly and Dean ruefully thought that hopefully it made him look more masculine, made him look less like Mary. Maybe then his dad could stand to look at him without being reminded.

But as soon as that thought came Dean felt sick and guilty, because all he had left of his mother was a few sparse memories and that he looked so much like her. Maybe he didn’t see it, but others did and the rare _you have your mother’s eyes_ or _Mary used to have the same cocky grin, you know_ made Dean feel warm. Even if she was gone he could have those thoughts and memories. It was for John, too; maybe after the thing that took his mom away was gone John could look at Dean and when he saw Mary in his eyes, maybe he would smile instead of flinching away.

John hadn’t returned that night to them and when Sammy got pissed and asked Dean what the hell he did, Dean couldn’t bring himself to answer. Maybe it was something in his eyes but Sam’s expression had immediately softened and he sat next to his brother. They said nothing, but Dean could feel the silent support and he didn’t know whether to be grateful or hate himself for wanting it.

Sam knew better than to hug or try to console Dean, that would just make it _worse_ , but he didn’t bring it up again and that was enough. They continued on their daily routine as if nothing had happened, but when Dean came home that next day with a bloody nose Sam freaked and forced him to go to the hospital. Yeah, broken; Dean thought as much. Hopefully it would heal before John returned but he _knew_ John was going to notice the crook, he always did when they fought. It was something Dean just had to brace himself for. That nervous sickness was eating at him now, but it was more a reflexive memory than anything else. At this point Dean just didn’t know if he cared enough to wonder when John was coming back, _if_ he came back at all.

Two weeks later John made it back to them relatively in one piece; some scraps and bumps but nothing serious. Instead of being ecstatic over his return, or maybe a little angry about leaving him in the dark again, Dean just numbly regarded him and didn’t speak a word. He didn’t know what to say now.

So Dean was dumbfounded when he felt the strong, familiar grasp of his father’s hand on his shoulder and his gruff voice say, “Hey, son.”

Dean looked up to meet his father’s surprisingly welcome eyes, before quickly looking away and muttering a small, “Hello, sir.”

John sighed softly, squeezing Dean’s shoulder as he said, “Dean, we need-”

John trailed off and Dean grimaced, having a pretty good idea behind what stopped John; his nose still had a faint yellowed bruise, after all. He felt fingers hook under his chin and pull his head up, his father’s piercing gaze scrutinizing his face. Dean couldn’t look him in the eye, but flinched when John prodded his nose none too gently. It was still pretty tender.

“Dean. What happened?” John asked, the command to answer obvious in his question.

Dean didn’t even bother sugar coating it, “I was in a fight, sir.”

John scoffed and said, “Dean, I _told_ you, you back down from fights. I don’t care what they say, you can’t draw attention-”

“I started it, sir,” Dean mumbled. The silence in the room was stifling.

“You…” John paused, closing his eyes and shaking his head a little, almost like he wasn’t sure Dean spoke English, “You _what?_ ”

Dean frowned and said nothing, just waiting for the inevitable.

“Dean, you know better than this!” John yelled, fury coloring his rough voice, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice boy, it’s as plain as day on your face!”

Dean flinched and grumbled back bitterly, “At least you’re looking at my face.”

It was a dumb come-back, really, but the tension and silence following that particular outburst was almost deadly. Dean chanced a quick glance upward to see his father’s intense, completely unreadable eyes.

Sam, who had been in the bathroom getting ready for bed, poked his head out now, his brow furrowed in concern. Even he felt the tension in the air.

“Uhm-”

“Get ready for bed Sam,” John interrupted Sam calmly, patiently, “Dean and I need to have a word outside.”

Dean was starting to hate going on these “talks” outside. He almost, _almost_ stayed still and defiant, or said no or asked why Sam couldn’t be there to hear it. He didn’t though; because Dean knew better, and Dean could never bring it in him to disobey his father.

Dean followed John outside, holding his gaze down when John reeled on him.

“Would you care to explain what the hell your problem is?” John snapped.

“No, sir,” Dean said softly albeit a little bitingly.

John grimaced a little, and Dean could tell he wanted to snap. Dean kept silent and waited. John drew in a calming breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Well, I guess now’s as good a time as any to talk.”

“About what sir?” Dean said with a hint of sarcasm.

John grimaced, shifting from one foot to the other and stepping back from Dean a little bit. Dean frowned but didn’t let the hurt show in his eyes that John was once again distancing himself. John hesitated a moment before speaking and Dean was already on edge when he finally opened his mouth.

“Dean, I’ve been thinking a lot the past few weeks. I’ve thought about this long and hard.” John paused for a moment, and Dean followed the movement of his dad rubbing the back of his neck nervously, and then he started talking again, “I believe it’s best if… I let you and Sam settle down.”

Dean’s eyes went wide for a moment, not expecting that at _all_. Really? _Really?_ He could… he could hardly believe it. It was like a dream. A strange, unbelievable dream.

Dean couldn’t gather his thoughts together fast enough to do more than stutter, “You mean like…a _home_?”

John chuckled, “I guess that’s a word for it. You’ll be with Bobby or Pastor Jim or somebody, I don’t know, but you and Sam can finish up school right. You two’ll have money for everything you need.”

You and Sam. You and Sam. You two. That didn’t sit well with Dean, not at _all_.

“And you’re gonna be there with us, right?” Dean asked uneasily, “You’ll come back from hunts and-”

“No, Dean,” John interrupted, his voice soft and Dean felt his stomach give out and drop. “I’m going to go on, alone. I’ll send money to you, check up on you when I can. But I think it’s best for all of us if I start hunting alone.”

No. No no no, he was _lying._ John would never, John couldn’t _actually_ leave them!

Dean hardly had the air in his lungs to stutter a response, “But, what about Sammy? I can’t take care of him alone-”

“You’ve been doing well enough so far.”

“He needs his dad!”

“He’s got you.”

Dean’s lip quivered and he choked, “ _I_ need my dad!”

John smirked humorlessly, “I haven’t really been much of one, son.”

This was too much. It was _too much_ and Dean couldn’t take it anymore. After these weeks of confusion and hurt and _what the fuck_ Dean wasn’t letting John go that easily.

“You wanna know what my _problem_ is?” Dean snapped, “You treat me like I’m the walking plague! Except of course, when you decide to randomly remember I’m your son, but that never lasts long! If I’m that much of a fucking pain to you, tell me! I just want the truth!”

John’s eyes narrowed as he said, “Language Dean-”

“Dad!” Dean exclaimed, the anger fading now towards desperation, “I get it. You hate looking at me, it hurts, fine, but you can’t _ditch_ us! There’s gotta be something I can do!”

“I already told you it isn’t your fault boy. You can’t change it.”

“So-,” Dean’s throat tightened on the words, refusing to be spoken. He felt like a child saying it, but he had to get this straight, he had to _know._

“So you’re holding something I can’t change over my head? I have to deal with you _hating_ to see my face? Dad, how-…how is that _fair?_ ” Dean’s voice cracked, and he exhaled sharply and grimaced, fighting back the tears that wanted to fall. God dammit, god _dammit_ he was weak.

“Dean-” John started, his brow creased in surprise.

“No. No, just. Stop it. Please,” Dean bit out, “I’m sorry I look like her Dad. I’m sorry it hurts to have to look at me.”

His words came out more bitter than he wanted, because he wasn’t sorry he looked like Mary; Dean loved that he had a little bit of his mom with him. It made it feel like she really existed.

Dean wasn’t surprised when John grabbed him by his shirt, but if there was anger behind it, it dissipated quickly, because his hold loosened as soon as it came and John moved his hand to Dean’s shoulder. He met his dad’s eyes, surprised to find them troubled and morose.

“Dean, that-,” John sighed and closed his eyes, shaking his head, “That’s not it, that’s not why I can’t…”

Dean bit his lip and said, “ _Why_ then? I’ll dye my hair, I’ll… I don’t know, bust my nose again, fuck up my face. Just stay.”

John shot him an annoyed look, “Is that why you picked a fight, Dean?”

Dean grimaced, not really knowing how to answer that. John groaned softly and shook his head.

“I don’t want you to do any of that,” John said softly, “I’ll stay.”

“But you’re going to continue hating seeing me,” Dean mumbled.

John groaned exasperatedly and said, “I don’t hate looking at you, boy. It’s not something you can understand.”

“Try me.”

Dean met John’s surprised eyes head on. This needed resolved now; he didn’t even care if it ended up in punches. After all of this bullshit Dean deserved at least _one_ straight answer.

John turned to face him fully, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“Fine,” John said, bringing his hand to hold Dean’s chin in his fingers, “You wanna know why I can’t look at you? You’re right, it’s because you look like…her. Shit son, you’re a spitting image, not just in your looks, it’s the way you act and you…it’s _you_ , too…”

Dean felt John’s fingers travel over his jaw as he spoke, and then his thumb was brushing his full lips. Dean’s eyes widened marginally for a moment he was still. _This… **what?**_ Dean had no idea what to think; John hadn’t said much, but he was watching him like he had that night but only it was stronger, and laced with more nervousness and pain and…and Dean needed to know for sure. Dean tentatively let his mouth fall open, the tip of his tongue flicking questioningly over the pad of his father’s thumb. It lingered there for one moment too long before John jerked back as if he had been burned.

“Dad?” Dean said softly.

“Dean, I-” John stopped himself and scowled, turning away from him.

“Dad, wait-”

John was walking quickly to the car and Dean panicked again. _This_ was what it was all about? That night, and the fucking yelling, and-...This was- _god_ Dean was an _idiot_. It was so _obvious,_ now.

Before John could get in the car Dean exclaimed, “Dad, it’s okay!”

And really, it wasn’t, this was as far away from okay as they could get but where Dean should be feeling disgusted, and relieved John was distancing himself as much as possible, all Dean felt was a weird sympathy and fear that John would actually abandon them over something he didn’t seem able to control. John leaving them behind was forefront in his mind; it meant the family split apart, it meant Dean hadn’t done his job, it meant he had failed. _Again._ He just couldn’t let that happen, not over something like this. This Dean could help. This Dean could fix.

John stopped and turned to face Dean, but kept his eyes on his keys.

“Okay? _Okay?_ Tell me what part of that is _okay_ , Dean.”

Dean didn’t have an answer, not one John would like, at least. If it meant John would stay, and that Dean could do _something_ that wasn’t a total disaster, then…well maybe this wasn’t so bad. Dean didn’t feel regret or disgusted by what he had done that night. He had liked it, really; he liked giving something to his father. He… wanted to do it again.

Dean swallowed thickly and approached John, standing near him but a respectable distance away.

“Please Dad? I don’t want you to leave.”

“I _have_ to, Dean,” John said sharply, but his voice was pained.

Dean shook his head, and made a bold move to reach up and gently touch John’s arm, “No you don’t.”

His father looked at his hand, almost uncomprehending, and darted his gaze to Dean, “Boy, you don’t…you have no _idea_ what I’m talking-”

“Yes I do. I’m not dumb, and I-…” the words caught, and Dean quickly cleared his throat, “I’m okay with it. It’s okay.”

Dean felt John’s hands fist his shirt and Dean was pressed bodily into the impala by his father’s strong grip. John let go but kept him pinned with a hand on his chest, glaring at him.

“You sure about that Dean? Because I feel like wanting to fuck my own-”

John couldn’t even finish the sentence but Dean felt his heart start to pound a little faster. He could feel it in his throat, his ears, his stomach. It was laid out in the open now, no assumed words or guesses or…god, it was really true. Dean wasn’t sure how he felt, but his mind apparently didn’t need to keep up for this one because with slightly trembling fingers Dean reached a hand up and cupped John’s cheek, stroking his thumb over slight stubble of his skin.

“It’s okay,” Dean said thickly one more time, trying to calm John down even though his own heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. But he understood now. He could handle this; he knew he could fix this. His throat suddenly felt like it was made of cotton and he swallowed hard to try to take away the awful dryness. Dean bit his lip and tried to will up the courage to do more than touch his dad’s jaw, before John thought he was having doubts. He just…needed to do it.

Shit, what in the world was he doing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/Kudos appreciated always


	4. Chapter 4

Dean couldn’t look John in the eye as he dropped nervous fingers to the buttons on his dad’s shirt, fumbling a little as he began to unbutton them. John put one hand over Dean’s and he stopped, looking up in confusion. But John wasn’t looking at him, he merely gently pushed Dean’s hands away and started undoing the buttons himself, even though Dean saw his fingers were no more steady than his own.

Dean swallowed hard again, throat still too dry. This was….this was insane. It was bat shit insane but Dean couldn’t will himself to think he should stop. He _couldn’t_ back out, not now. Not when he finally knew what had been bothering John for so long and he could finally fix it.

He watched John undo the over shirt for a moment, and then realized he should probably be doing the same and mentally slapped himself. Fumbling even more with his own shirt in his haste he heard John chuckle lightly and Dean frowned. He slowed down then, trying to show John he wasn’t anxious even though Dean was sure his lungs were going to collapse from how hard he was breathing right now. John smiled faintly and finished up his own buttons, pulling off his shirts. Dean licked his lips to wet them and bit the bottom lip hard, his breath slightly ragged.

John’s breath caught and suddenly John pulled Dean away from the car, and Dean’s heart fucking _pounded_ in his chest and into his ears when he pressed flush against the warm, hard muscle of his father’s broad chest. The blood in his veins throbbed hotly as nervous heat pooled in his stomach. The loud squeak of the Impala’s back door sounded when it was opened and he didn’t need further prompting to get into the back seat, shaking hands grappling to slide himself inside. John followed, closing the door behind him and suddenly his father was very _very_ close and Dean gulped. The slight sound of wind was gone now, making Dean very aware of his father’s slow breath and his own slight pant.

Dean willed his breath to calm as pulled his shirts off, exposing his chest to the cold air and lying back on colder leather. Suddenly the Impala felt very small and cramped, but Dean took in a deep breath and waited.

Dean was at a loss of what to do. He’d never gone this far with anyone, though he’d gotten pretty far now, and this was _completely_ different. So far John was just…looking at him. His eyes roamed over his naked torso and Dean blushed under his scrutiny, wondering if John liked what he was seeing at all.

But then his dad’s eyes were squeezing shut in what Dean now knew was guilt and Dean panicked a little, shifting up to cup his father’s jaw.

“It’s _okay,_ ” Dean said for what felt like the thousandth time, saying it so much the words were starting to sound funny and not like words at all. So much he wasn’t entirely sure who the words were for anymore. John grimaced a little but leaned into Dean’s touch, still not opening his eyes. Dean moved forward again and brushed his lips over his father’s jaw, cheek, and eyes; feather light and finally he felt the tension slowly ease out of John’s body. This Dean could do, he could relax John and let him know Dean would do this for him.

He kissed over John’s cheek and nearly squeaked when he felt John turn his head and kiss him on the mouth. Dean’s breath hitched and his eyes widened slightly, having barely enough presence of mind not to still from shock and to kiss him back. He managed it with minimal nose bumping and awkward clashes of lips, and Dean felt proud he didn’t make a total fool of himself as he parted his lips for John’s.

Dean hadn’t even _entertained_ thoughts of kissing his dad, let alone been stupid enough to think of trying it. Like hell he was about to complain, though. John’s lips were warm, slightly chapped from cold air but they were welcome pressure and Dean let his eyes slip partially closed as he kissed him; it was hardly anything more than brushes of lips but it made Dean relax significantly. Nearly as soon as it came his dad was pulling away, his head dropping as he sighed shakily. And like that it was done. Dean listened to the sound of his heart beating like a war drum and their unsteady breathing, waiting for John to say something, do something. Finally John’s eyes blinked open, looking at Dean almost guiltily, but mainly relaxed and actually _looking_ at him. He considered that a damn good victory.

Slowly, hesitantly, they began exploratory touches, mapping out skin and ridges of muscles; the hard lines of John’s stomach and the softer planes of Dean’s. John needed a little more coaxing, which Dean remedied with arches of his back and his hitching breath, and when warm calloused hands passed over his swelling nipples Dean gasped at the touch. The teasing was driving him nuts; he needed this and Dean moaned under his breath. John looked up, and passed his hands over his nipples again, this time pinching the nubs teasingly and the action made Dean arch into his hands and his breath hitch again. Dean didn’t even have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed when his pants started to tighten significantly in the front and heat spread on his cheeks.

As John kept up the tease Dean’s swollen cock throbbed in protest against the unforgiving fly of his jeans, and Dean scooted back so he could reach John’s belt buckle. Dean could feel that powerful gaze on him as he tugged it loose, lightly palming and rubbing his dad’s arousal through his jeans. John’s hips jerked into the contact and let out a ragged, startled groan and Dean smiled. Dean remembered _this_. Carefully Dean pulled his pants open and slid them down his thighs, pushing them as far as his dad’s position would allow and soon followed by his boxers. He was met with the sight of his father’s hard length again, thick and red with his want but instead of the nervous apprehension Dean had felt that night so long ago, it was replaced with heavy and eager anticipation.

Dean sat back to let John push his clothing the rest of the way off, denim tangling momentarily in his dad’s thick boots before finally wrestling them off as well. Dean saved the trouble of tangling his own clothing by quickly untying his boots and pushing them in the corner, bumping his elbows into the Impala’s seat and window and grimacing a little. Dean went to unbuckle his own belt but he was again startled into confusion when John pushed him to lie back. Instead of John pulling away like he thought John chuckled breathlessly, and then his dad’s hands were on his belt, pulling it free and unzipping his pants. Damn him if Dean didn’t get harder and he felt his blood suddenly start pounding away in his ears and throat again. He had to physically choke back a whimper at the sight and keep his hips still, because his cock seemed insistent on throbbing eagerly at the idea of _contact_ , especially from John.

Dean helped John by lifting his hips up, hooking his fingers in his waist band so he could push the jeans down to his thighs. John managed to free him from the denim as well as from his boxers, dropping them both to the cloth-crowded floor and then suddenly Dean was… he was naked. Flushing darkly Dean laid back, still hoping that John wasn’t going to freak.

But John was watching him again, no longer tensed up and his eyes so blown they looked almost black and Dean bit his lip, sore and blood swollen from how often he had worried at the flesh.

John ran one hand up Dean’s leg, his thumb stroking along his thigh, so slowly it was almost in wonderment but to Dean it was a biggest tease on earth. The touch was too slow and so fucking searing he could feel the trail his hot fingers left, coaxing up goosebumps and speeding up the flow of blood straight to his cock and Dean spread himself wider just to get more of that delicious contact. He was shocked slightly when the hand kept going, eyes widening and throat constricting when John’s fingers swiped mercilessly soft over the head of his red, neglected cock. Dean was nearly cowed by the move and arched up from the suddenness of it with a gasp, feeling calloused fingertips brush once more before John pulled away and Dean whined with silent plea. When Dean tore his eyes away from the hand lingering cruelly close to engorged flesh and to John’s face, he was startled to see his dad smirking. Oh; oh the _jerk_. He _knew_ he was being a tease. But Dean bit back a grin, ecstatic John was finally relaxing. Even if he was the world’s biggest cock block.

“Fuck, come on…” Dean panted, arching his hips a little, “You’re not playing fair…”

John chuckled a little, “Who said I would?”

“ _Dad_ …” Dean groaned a little, reaching forward to give him a taste of his own medicine. He wrapped his own hand around John’s cock and gave it one firm stroke, forcing out a startled gasp and a buck of powerful hips. He stroked a few more times, remembering what John liked and breathing shakily when John gasped.

Dean swallowed hard, “Come on…come on, I want more.”

“Dean…” his dad whispered in a small pant and the younger looked up to see John’s brow creased slightly, his throat working as he swallowed down gulps of air. Dean sat back when John gave him a small, tentative nod, his insides flipping a little with nervousness. Even if he’d been mentally preparing himself for this since this started, his body literally thrumming with the need for it, he was still anxious as hell. His heart raced and his breath quivered, nodding his head quickly and pulling his hand away.

John sat back, waiting for him. Dean gulped and brought his fingers up to his own mouth, brushing them tentatively over his lips before sucking three of them into his mouth. Dean exhaled sharply and made quick work of them before pulling his slick fingers out, brushing them over his erection lightly on their way down between his legs. His breath caught and he hesitated just a second, his brow creasing slightly in concentration as he slowly pushed one finger into his body. Dean winced immediately and clenched his jaw a little, willing himself to relax around the sharp discomfort. He raised himself up on one hand and tried to push it in deeper, breathing as slow as he could. He added another finger and forced it in, wincing again and gritting his teeth harder. The sharp discomfort changed to a burn but he ignored it. God, how did anyone do this? This _hurt_.

Dean cringed and tried to push his fingers in deeper, ducking his head slightly to hide his flush. He was inexperienced, he knew, and the position was uncomfortable and impossible to get his fingers deep enough to stretch, but he couldn’t be doing this right.

“Stop,” John muttered suddenly, and Dean jerked in surprise. He looked up in confusion and John just shook his head, smacking his hand away, “I’ll do it.”

Before Dean could protest John was shooting him a silencing look and he shrunk back.

“S-sorry,” he mumbled, the flush of embarrassment heating up even more on his cheeks.

“No sorry,” John sighed, but his voice was soft, “Just…try to relax, okay?”

Dean nodded, chewing his lower lip gently as he forced himself to relax. He sat back on his elbows and watched as John sucked and licked over three of his fingers. Dean’s breath caught in his throat at the sight, staring at him with wide eyes. His fingers dug into the seat, tense with anticipation.

John slipped his fingers out and brought his free hand up to cup Dean’s cheek, brushing his thumb lightly over the cheek bone and Dean looked up at him. His dad’s eyes were careful now, not so glazed as before though obviously dilated. Dean sighed and leaned into the touch slightly, nodding to him. When he felt the first finger touch to his entrance he reflexively flinched, expecting more of what he had just attempted. But John didn’t push it in; instead he ran slow, small circles over the tight muscles and Dean trembled in surprise at the soft touch.

John ran his thumb up to rub the skin below Dean’s balls and Dean couldn’t stop the moan that escaped his throat as his eyelids fluttered closed from the sensation. John chuckled lightly and kept up the careful and now firm rub, drawing out another small moan and Dean rocked back into it this time. John broke his gaze then, dropping his head down to plant a kiss to Dean’s stomach. The muscles twitched and then John _ran_ his _tongue_ over his stomach and Dean moaned again, arching up when the tip of the slick muscle circled his slight abs.

John kissed over his abdomen again, a reassuring brush, and then eased his first finger inside. Dean winced like before, because instead of stopping John kept going until he felt his knuckles touch skin. Dean heart hammered in his chest from the foreign stretch and he swallowed hard, but then sighed when his father’s tongue when back to mapping out the curves of his muscles. John worked the finger slowly inside him, Dean taking deep breaths, but too soon John started to push a second finger inside. Dean winced then and locked up, hissing sharply. John stopped, and sucked on a small patch of skin the same time John wrapped his fingers around Dean’s cock and started to pump him slow, so _slow_ Dean moaned and felt sweat break out over his forehead, sliding down his jaw in tickling streams. John pushed that second finger all the way inside, forcing a buck of Dean’s hips up into his hand.

John worked Dean open slowly and diligently, taking his time to wait for Dean’s moans and the slow rock of hips before thrusting his fingers to stretch him. He made Dean forget the discomfort in favor of slowly stroking his arousal, kept up the soft kisses and light licks that wound Dean up and down into a shaking mess of gasps and moans. Sweat stung at his eyes and he brought his hand up to wipe it away, breathing slowly to distract himself from the slight burn of the stretch. It was getting stifling in the car, hot and almost humid from their panting.

Dean eased himself off of his elbows to lie back, slinging one arm behind his head to keep it from digging into the car door. He watched John work him open and the younger licked his dry lips, forcing himself to breathe deeply to calm his pounding heart. John looked up at him then, his eyebrows creased together slightly in concern. Dean just nodded to him, and John pushed in the third finger. Dean keened and forced his hips still; gritting his teeth as John so carefully worked him. He relaxed the best he could, a feat it in itself yet slowly but surely the burn eased into a slight, foreign sensation; Dean bucked his hips down in silent admission for more.

John started thrusting his fingers steadily in and out, spreading them slightly to stretch him more. All the while John kept stroking Dean’s cock, squeezing his fingers around the sensitive, leaking head and Dean couldn’t help moaning at his touch. Dean realized faintly John had his fingers knuckle deep in him, three of his fingers now, and it didn’t hurt; not like before. He could feel the distinct difference, and strangeness of the tension, but it was good. The ache in his gut was starting to curl again, coiling tight and seeping down into his groin. He whined and rocked his hips back into John, realizing he _really_ liked this. He should tell John he was ready, but that sensation felt so _good_ and he needed more of it, so much now that he just couldn’t bring himself to tell John to stop.

“Are you okay?” John asked softly, probably having noticed his wandering thoughts. But Dean didn’t register it; all of his focus was on John’s three fingers, thick and long _inside him_. But that was hardly anything. It was going to be replaced with something bigger.

John frowned slightly and raised his other hand to wave it in his face, saying sternly, “Dean.”

Dean jerked slightly, blinking dazedly out of his state and then nodding, “Y-yeah. Yeah.” 

And honestly, he was. It was a little nerve-wracking sure, but he was okay. John grunted a little, but it didn’t sound like he believed Dean. He kept going, his fingers pushing in deep and slightly stroking upwards. Dean bit his lip and groaned softly when he started stroking his cock again and Dean’s eyes rolled slightly as sparks of white danced over his vision. John kept it up until it started to feel like _teasing_ , even to him now because that lingering discomfort was fading into something else entirely, making heat spiral in his gut and his cock _pulse_ pre-come onto his stomach and god, and he _wanted more._ But John was still touching, his fingers sliding deep into his relaxed body, faster and harder until Dean could _almost_ call it fucking but not enough, not nearly enough even when Dean started bucking back into it.

Dean gritted out a deep groan and lolled his head back for a moment, his hips rocking steadily into John’s driving fingers. Sweat made Dean stick to the leather seat and tickled his sides where it dripped steadily off of his body and the sheer need was blinding. John didn’t take his silent cues, just kept stroking and now he was licking and kissing his skin again and Dean spread his legs wider, hitching one up the seat to open himself up further. Suddenly John touched something that made Dean groan loudly in surprise and jerk hard into his hand, heat shooting down his spine and the ache in his cock throbbing hard. Oh, oh god that was so- _oh god!_ John stroked his fingers upwards again, searching until he hit that spot and Dean nearly sobbed out a moan. He heard John chuckle a little but didn’t register it, that extra haze of pleasure was enough for Dean to start spilling pre-come onto his stomach, coating his dad’s fingers and John just kept rubbing that spot, drawing out whimpers and wordless pleas until Dean trembling and bucking hard into it.

“Please, oh shit _please_ ,” he panted out, his voice rough and thick. He swallowing hard and nearly keened when John teased him one more time and Dean’s hand flew down to his cock and he gripped himself tightly, so close to coming he could feel his dick swelling towards to brink. John pulled both of his hands away, slowly pulling his fingers out, and Dean’s heart started pounding and pounding harder, watching with glazed eyes as John spat into his palm and slicked his arousal with it as well as with his own pre-come.

But then John stopped. He was looking at Dean’s body with definite arousal, but a flash reminiscent of the last few weeks dimmed his eyes. Dean didn’t even think before he sat up and cupped his dad’s jaw.

“Come on, it’s okay. Dad, I’m…I’m ready.” Dean said as steadily as he could, even with his chest heaving for much needed air.

John flinched again, and Dean regarded him with utter confused but patience; as much patience as an extremely turned on sixteen-year-old boy could muster.

“Dad?” He said gently, his voice thick and very definitely begging.

John let out a sharp, shaky exhale, “Dean, don’t-…”

Dean shut his mouth and waited.

“Don’t… call me….” John started, the words obviously difficult to get out, “I can’t…”

And suddenly Dean got it. _Oh._

Dean nodded quickly, quickly, feeling stupid for not having thought of it before. “Yeah, yeah I won’t.”

“John. Just…say John.”

Dean nodded again, willing to do anything to make his dad comfortable with this. On shaky arms Dean leaned up to kiss him gently, trying to convince him that it was fine. Dean wanted to make this good for him, he shouldn’t care Dean was his son. Dean was his soldier first, now and always and he would do anything for him.

John kissed him back for a moment, sighing softly before clasping his hand over Dean’s shoulder. He broke the kiss and nudged him to lay back.

“Alright. Lay down, and for god’s sake, _please_ relax.”

Dean very nearly rolled his eyes and huffed when he obeyed, spreading his legs the best he awkwardly could in the Impala, taking the leg pressed up on the seat in his hand to hitch it up higher and hooking the other over John’s hip. Dean didn’t need that prompting; of course he knew to relax. It wasn’t just fingers anymore, that was almost trivial compared to what was…about…to… It was like telling someone with a fear of heights not to look down. Dean could feel himself tightening and tensing up and he gulped nervously. John sighed.

“Dean. Please.”

Dean shook his head, “No, yeah I’m just. Just do it. I’ll be fine.”

John didn’t seem too convinced by that but Dean held his gaze, so John sat up on his knees and shifted forward. Dean felt the tip of his father’s arousal press against his entrance and Dean’s heart and his stomach fluttered and jumped. He was going to have a fucking heart attack before this was over, he swore to god. Dean bit his lip and relaxed as much as he could, his pulse hot in his veins as it raced a mile a minute until finally John pushed the head into his body.

Dean gritted his teeth for a moment before his lips parted in a gasp, his hands flying up to grip John’s forearms tightly. His dad stilled immediately and Dean nearly gave himself whiplash shaking his head quickly back and forth.

“No, no please, keep going,” he choked out, his glazing eyes finding John’s. It was uncomfortable, but more shocking than anything else and _sweet god fuck_ John better not stop _now_.

John studied him for a moment but kept moving, sinking in inch by _incredible_ inch and Dean _moaned_ in pleasure. It was gone; that lingering pain was gone and the discomfort was overshadowed by thick, hard, and hot filling him to the brim. He felt John’s hips press flush against him and Dean realized his body had taken it all. He swallowed hard and each breath was a shaky gasp, clacking his teeth shut to breathe through his nose.

“Are you okay?” John asked again, softer and much shakier than before. Dean could see the tremble in his arms, the flush deep on his cheeks. Dean nodded and after a few moments, shifted his hips experimentally. The head of his dad’s big cock brushed his insides so deeply that Dean gasped and keened slightly, clenching around him instinctively. He winced when that brought back pain but John let out a sharp, startled moan so Dean did it again. That time it forced a sharp buck of powerful hips and Dean whimpered from nothing that had to do with pain.

Dean swallowed down a breath and locked glazed eyes up on his father, his hands relaxing from their vice like grip on John’s arms slightly.

“M-… move,” he panted, his dick twitching back to almost painful hardness and Dean ached from the roller coaster of sensations, the pain and pleasure making his head dizzy and his vision swim but he wanted more. Even when the dull discomfort came back for a moment it was okay, because when John thrust back in, slow and deep and unrelenting Dean’s eyes rolled and he couldn’t bite back the sharp moan of pleasure. It was foreign, indescribable; but good, so damn _good_ he couldn’t jumble his thoughts together enough to think more than he needed more, _now_.

John stopped moving and Dean bit his lip hard. Oh, that was not fair at all, he needed this, god _please_ John better not be changing his mind now. Another tentative thrust of hips drove the cock head directly into his prostate, just a simple tease and Dean arched.

“Oh god, _oh god!_ ” Dean choked out, bucking his hips back against John’s this time, “ _please…!_ ”

He was so thick, so hard and so fucking _hot_ it was better than Dean thought it would feel, and Dean tried not to whimper with every small shift inside him John was making. He needed him to move, he needed to feel his dad thrusting deep inside. John’s breathed sharply through his nose at Dean’s whimper and he pushed Dean down into the car seat, strong and forceful hands holding him still _._

“J-John…” Dean whimpered, remembering his father’s order not to calm him “Dad” as he clutched desperately on the car seat.

John stopped the tentative roll and snapped his hips into Dean’s, forcing out a loud, shaking gasp from the younger’s throat and he dug his fingers into the leather of the seat to keep him rooted down. John kept up that wonderful grind and Dean tried to roll his hips back into it, he really did but _oh_ , _ohhh_ that sensation was so sudden and consuming, hot and hard and rough and _constant_ it took everything in him to spread his legs wider and allow more movement for John, let alone get the air to _breathe_ and keep blood running to his racing heart _._ He groaned and hooked his leg over John’s thigh, pulling them closer together and driving John even deeper into his stretched hole.

Dean whimpered with each hard thrust, one hand flying up to grip at the handle of the impala’s door to keep from hitting the side. He grappled uselessly at the ceiling and ended up grasping John’s shoulder, nails digging into skin and moaning when John hit that spot deep inside.

“John!” Dean cried out again, accompanied by the plea of his father’s name and John’s mouth lowered to his chest, sucking a patch of skin hard. John moved his mouth lower, lower until it latched onto a nipple and Dean arched lack a jackknife against him with a keen. John pushed him back down and _teased_ his tongue over the swollen nub, making Dean whimper and try not to buck. John shouldn’t be doing this; Dean didn’t need to be pleasured, it was enough to give John his satisfaction, but _god_ his mouth felt so hot and wet and _good_ on his skin.

“John…” Dean begged, unsure of what he was asking for. He didn’t need to though, because his dad started to thrust harder and faster, impaling Dean with each brutal grind and Dean let out a near-sobbing cry from how good it felt. He looked up at John’s face and he could tell he was getting close, he recognized the slack-jaw expression and uplifted brow. Dean tightened himself around his father’s arousal, not caring that it shot a twinge of pain through him because this was for John, not him. It was worth it when John cried out suddenly and buried his face in Dean’s neck; his movements became erratic until he thrust into Dean harder than before, no pain at all with it but rather blinding, bright ecstasy and finally he felt the hot spill of John’s essence shooting deep inside his body. The feel of his father taking him so intimately made Dean bite his lip and tremble under him, and Dean came between their stomachs with a hitching cry, his hands flying up to grip both of John’s shoulders and his vision flashing white from the force of the powerful waves of pleasure dragging him under leaving him breathless.

Dean came down from his orgasm slowly, his breath shaking as his useless muscles and bones turned to liquid where he laid. He opened his eyes he hadn’t realized he had closed, and looked up at John. John had dropped down to his elbows and his forehead was resting against Dean’s collarbone. His entire body shook to match Dean’s own. The younger bit his lip and removed his hands from John’s shoulders, weaved one through his hair and held it there.

He didn’t want this to turn sour; not like before and every other time he was alone with his dad since. He just… he wanted this to be okay. He wanted John to know how good this had felt, for Dean and hopefully for him, too.

John took a deep breath and got the energy to move away again, sitting up on his knees as he slowly pulled out of Dean’s body. Dean was so relaxed that it didn’t hurt at all, he just gasped softly at the sensation. John still had his eyes closed, one hand braced on the roof of the impala to keep himself upright. Instead of staying still like his body so vehemently wanted him to Dean pulled himself vertical and stroked his hands through John’s hair again, cupping his jaw. Dean was tense though, worried the gesture would elicit a bad response and John would draw away from this again. He knew this was delicate, just by the way John wouldn’t open his eyes to look at him yet. He didn’t want to start from square one or worse, shut this out completely.

“D….John?” Dean said timidly, not sure if calling him “Dad” again was alright yet.

John’s eyes blinked open, and he looked towards Dean, but couldn’t meet his eyes. Dean swallowed hard, and lifting John’s chin Dean kissed him on the mouth. John jumped like a spooked rabbit but he didn’t draw away, and Dean couldn’t help but feel ridiculous by how quickly the roles were reversed. But John’s lips parted to the kiss, and Dean pressed just a little more; the wet slide of skin slotted his upper lip between John’s and he could feel the faint graze of teeth over the skin. His mouth was warm, hot and swollen still against Dean’s own as he held him close. Warm breath ghosted over his cheek and Dean trembled from the feel of it.

John’s hands moved away from his sides and finally weaved through Dean’s hair, not pulling him closer but the feel of large, strong arms over his neck, bracketing him in made Dean feel the sense of protection he hadn’t had from John in so long. Dean felt his chest swell a little, squeezing his eyes shut to fend off the tears of relief that were threatening to fall. But when the pulled back, matching breaths quivering as they exhaled and eyes finally meeting, Dean had to ask.

“Are we okay?” Dean whispered. John gave Dean a small, weak smile, and a chuckle bubbled out of his throat. He ruffled one hand through Dean’s hair before cupping his jaw again, and John smile.

“Yeah. We’re okay,” John whispered back, and Dean couldn’t help but smile, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/Kudos appreciated always


	5. Chapter 5

Several weeks later they were hunting a supernatural creature in Iowa. Sam was in the car, getting some sleep while John and Dean went out to look for the son of a bitch.

This time, the creature didn’t get away from Dean. This time Dean spotted it and shot it point blank in the head as it ran towards them. This time John checked to see if Dean was okay. He had a few bumps and scrapes from the brush, and a nasty gash on his forehead from when the creature flung him away. Normally John just told him to clean up and walk off the bruises and sores. Dean didn’t realize how much he wanted that little “are you alright?” until he felt his heart swelled a little as he nodded and rolled his eyes, fighting back a grin as he nudged John playfully away.

John looked Dean in the eyes, and for the first time, grinned at what he saw.

They packed up without a word, the silence content and peaceful as Dean pulled a blanket over Sam’s body, slumped down with an open book half in his hand and half settled on the floor of the impala. Dean slid into the passenger seat, and looked over to his dad.

John didn’t hesitate this time. He looked at Dean and smiled, reaching his hand out to ruffle Dean’s hair. His hand lingered on Dean’s chin, his thumb brushing over his cheek gently, and then dropped. Nothing more could be done so close to Sam, but Dean still broke out into a goofy grin and settled contently back into the seat. The engine kicked to life as John started to car and they barreled down the road in search of the next hunt.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want the cringey talking-to-self author's notes go find it on FF.net and find them I'm not encouraging my shame here IT WAS 2011 
> 
> Comments/Kudos appreciated always <3
> 
> Also, to all you guys that commented and loved the original fic, you still hold a special place in my heart. This was the first big fic I ever finished, I was nervous, I was a tiny weeb of a fan, and you all showered so much love and affection on me. You all inspired me to keep writing trashy fanfic, so, you're all awesome <3


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